Crossover Earth '98
On the Fritz
by Paul Cocker and Michael Kelly
Abe Slyzinsky was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of gunfire. While the neighborhood had never been the best or the safest, things had clearly changed for the worse. Sirens wailed down nearby streets, and the television had reports of gang activity earlier in the day. The vigilantes, or the costumed crimefighters, as his son Johnny liked to call them, would never have allowed this. Or so Abe's son liked to think.
The poor kid and his romantic mind, thought Abe. Such an intelligent mind mixed with such a simplistic view of the world, largely influenced by those comic books he adores.
The gangs were running wild around the West Side, and word was out that even the police were outmanned. That was bad enough, but he knew his son was out somewhere in the city with the East Enders and that especially bothered him.
The sound of gunfire echoed from outside again.
Abe rushed down into the basement of his apartment building and checked the locks on an old locker near the furnace room. They seemed intact, and he knew they were impossible to pick without showing signs of tampering. He knew, because he had designed them himself. Abe unlocked the door and went in, flicking on the stammering old fluorescent light. Inside, stacked neatly along one wall lay the laptop computer and the rest of the hardware that made up the Kinetic And Gravitational Energy Device. Being so occupied with tutoring his students and working so closely with Kevin Kline, the private eye who kept investigating Advanced Weapons Inc., hasn't given Abe a chance to test the system as of late. And after his recent encounter with the notorious Carver, he should have at least given KAGED a once-over, or better yet, a diagnostic check.
But Johnny was out there, out with those warring gangs, and Abe had to make sure his son was out of harm's way.
Abe gathered all the components of his prototype equipment and returned to his apartment to prepare to suit up. He fastened the harness first, feeling the satisfactory click as it locked into place around his shoulders and waist, the suitcase container of the device attached and opened, the wiring hanging from his chest and back. The cybernetic comm-link went on next, with its miniature silicone sensors designed to read every neural impulse, a tedious process that took anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes. Electrodes now dangled from his scalp, clusters of superconductor filaments forming tightly wound ropes of circuitry that coiled about his hair. He looked like a technological medusa.
Abe took a few tentative steps across the room, anticipating the transformation that was about to come.
"Okay," he said as he took a deep breath. "Here's goes nothing."
Abe activated the computer as he jumped into the air, for failing to do so would have neatly sliced a divot from the floor, an expense he could ill afford.
Immediately, his brain became flooded with binary codes and electronic algorithms; his sensations and persona were trapped within a complex series of analog data. His world was instantly transformed as a stasis overwhelmed him, his usual five senses were instantly severed. But he gained much more in return -- an all-encompassing sensory unit, more powerful than any sonar. While bats emanated sound to determine their surroundings, Abe emanated nothing. KAGED was an energy absorption system, but within the personal force field it created, Abe could decipher the geography, the shapes and patterns of surrounding objects for 360 degrees, through their varying gradients in density.
Abe hovered over his furniture like a frozen shadow of utter black, anchored in a web of gravitational attractions that only he could perceive. His chest pulsed like a beating heart, a sign that the stasis field was linked to his very being. Suddenly, the last component of the KAGED system, a radio he used to broadcast his thoughts, began to levitate as Abe manipulated its gravitons. He telekinetically placed it over his shoulders, hanging it loosely on his back.
Can't waste too much time here. Johnny may need me.
Abe located an object in space along his desired trajectory, spun his body into a horizontal position, and "tweaked" the gravitational attraction between his mass and the mass of the far-off star. He glided swiftly and silently out an open window and into the night air.
Johnny may need me.
It was past midnight, and the Dog Pack gang's enforcers stalked through the waterfront in the shadows of burned-out warehouses and crumbling tenements, their guns hidden under their jacket and shirts. As they came around the corner of one building, they found another Dog Pack member standing watch. The lead enforcer sauntered up to the lookout. "This be the place, Flea?"
"This's the place, Rottie." Flea pointed toward a break in the building with his mini uzi. "I saw that friggin' lynch gang go down this alley, an' they ain't come out."
Rottie smiled. "Then they're good as dead." He raised his hand and motioned the others to his side. "Listen up! These guys been interferin' with our business for days. It's pay back time. You guys ready?"
Jackie and Lee, the two brothers from China Town, said nothing, just nodded.
"Bring these little shits on, man," T-Bone said.
Butch cracked his knuckles and laughed.
"So, who exactly are we dealing with?" asked Funboy.
"The East Siders or somethin' like that," answered Flea. "Just a bunch of punks, really. But I heard they've got two metas. One's the leader, a guy named Torch. The other's this costumed kid, name's Martial Blade."
"Great," said Funboy dryly.
"Uhm, has anyone reached Mastiff?" Flea asked.
"Yeah, I did," Coydog answered. "Told 'im what's up, and he said he's coming."
"Fuck, haven't seen him in two weeks. What's he been up to?" asked T-Bone.
Coydog shrugged. "Not sure. He said he was in South Carolina for a few days. The Truant prolly gave him some job or somethin'. And you know Mass, he prolly went down there and got some fucked up payment in return."
Flea shook his head. "Does Jake ever have any scratch on him?"
"Nah, he don't need money, man. What he wants, he takes. That's why the Truant never pays him straight cash."
"Yeah, I still can't get over that situation at that factory. I mean, Jake fuckin' blew up Avalon!"
Funboy laughed. "It was friggin' wicked, man. All that freaky magic and shit. It was like a movie."
Rottie raised a hand. "Shut up," he whispered. "Those pricks're right over there. And they see us. Get ready."
Across the alley, beside a boarded up building, a gang of youngsters stepped out of the shadows. They looked similar to the Dog Pack. They were a good mix of races, and pretty clean cut. Their jeans had seen a lot of wear, but they tried not to look really bad. While the Dog Pack was a little more hard-nosed and seamy, these guys took care to keep up a good image.
"Look at these fuckin' pretty boys," T-Bone snorted.
The one that really was noticeable was Martial Blade. He stood at the center of the lineup, his hands holding his hips, poised like some romantic hero. He had the build of teenaged athlete of slightly less than average height. Like Flea mentioned, he wore a costume -- a one-piece white bodysuit shot through with metallic streaks and with a glowing blue blade on the front of its chest. Behind his red bandanna mask, green eyes took in the Dog Pack.
"Ha! It's friggin' Zorro in tights!" pointed Funboy.
But the rival gang ignored the Dog Pack's insults.
"We've heard you've been terrorizing people, mugging them, and shooting them." The one known as Torch attempted to look defiant. "We're the East Enders, and we don't like that." The leader's attempt at intimidation was too late. He realized his two mistakes: one, he wasn't a very good speaker; and two, he just made the Dog Pack defensive.
The leader of the Dog Pack laughed, reaching for the Beretta 9mm tucked by the small of his back. He looked back toward the shadows behind the rest of his gang. "You hear that boss? They don't like what we do. Maybe we should teach them a lesson."
"Whuh?" Flea whirled around to see who Rottie was talking to. "Holy shit," he said to the darkness, "you were following us all a long? And you knew this, Rottie?"
"I didn't hear shit," Coydog added.
From within the shadows came an almost animal growl. "Go to it, boys."
Abe viewed the scene from above a run-down apartment building, gravimetric impressions cascading off the locale regardless of the barriers that KAGED interpreted. The computer's sensory unit differentiated the shapes and densities that made up the two gangs and distinguished their setting. They registered similar to hearing in that Abe could sense in every direction, similar to touch in that he could "feel" the pull of each object on his body, and similar to sight in the detail the sense provided him, yet really like none of these.
Abe suddenly realized that a large dense object he took to be a pile of metal junk moved slightly. Whatever it was, it was in charge of the Dog Pack.
Abe activated KAGED's combat mode, feeling an unusual rush of confidence and scorn for the pathetic normals below. A part of him realized that something was wrong but the device was in control and the artificial intelligence algorithms were unable to re-establish his normal psyche. Somehow the device, unable to adequately interpret his own neural network, was now using some other template for it's psyche. Why and how, Abe could only imagine, or would only imagine if he could.
The apparition that floated down for battle was no longer the cautious and respectful being it usually was, but somehow an amalgam of Abe and the massive man named Mastiff.
Just as the two gangs engaged one another, a silhouette, as dark as pitch, floated between the combatants before anything began. The crackle of a loudspeaker came to life, it's radio static seemingly coming from the black quasi-human figure. Suddenly, the figure snarled and spoke in a feral voice. "I think not, worms. Perhaps you'd like to reconsider, offal lovers!"
The Dog Pack took a step back, bafflement etched across their faces. Whatever this shape was, it just imitated Mastiff's voice to a T. However, there was an obvious difference between the Dog Pack's boss and this imposter. The genuine Mastiff would never talk like that.
Mastiff stepped out of the dark. His keen eyes narrowed on the hovering man, obviously noticing the stark abnormality describing him. It appeared as if he was painted on the still canvas of the sky with the blackest palette, his meager form rigid with ramrod stiffness and as unmoving as a mountain side. But what was most peculiar was his features, or lack there of. He was a figure of no detail, of no color, or no depth. He was a man-shaped umbra -- a human void.
Behind a vicious snarl, Mastiff's incisors gleamed off the glow of a distant street light. His mask framed his yellow eyes, accentuating the scowl aimed at the mysterious figure. "Who the fuck are ya?"
Statuesque and wraithlike, the ominous man didn't flinch the slightest yet he continued to float in place. "You must be the critter that spawned these grubs! I think you'd better find a better line of work, don't you?"
Mastiff sneered. "I think ya better shut the fuck up. I mean, shit, do ya even know who you're talkin' to?" He then let out a hollow laugh. "Ya sound like a complete idiot. And on the streets idiots get themselves killed."
"What's he doin' here, Blade?" Torch whispered to his costumed compatriot as he sidelong glanced the hovering man.
"I don't know," Martial Blade replied, now in a karate-like stance. Jeez, Johnny thought, Dad's gonna kill me when I get home. I spent my money on this new outfit, and I'm wearing the force-field generator. Screw it, can't worry about that now. Not with these guys here.
The East Enders were not content to wait on their mysterious and unwanted benefactor, nor was the Dog Pack. As the Dog Pack quickly drew their weapons, Torch immediately reacted. He raised his hands, and a mass of flames suddenly erupted in front of the attacking gang. Flickering fingers of fire reached out and warded the toughs back. The wall of blazing incandescence burned but did not consume, held in check by Torch's own will.
"Whoah!" Rottie hollered. "Cap that sonnuvabitch!"
Torch took a glance at the toughs and ducked as hot lead plunked into the wood of a nearby door frame. More gunfire hammered thick and deadly through the his blaze. The rounds bit into nearby walls and streaked out through boarded up windows. Flea, Coydog, and Funboy kept spraying with their uzis, while Butch and T-Bone pumped solid slugs out of their shotguns. The automatic pistols of Rottie, Jackie, and Lee ate smoking holes across the cheap metal doors, the bullets popping through easily as BBs through a paper target. None of them hit Torch, however, his fiery barrier blocking off any visibility whatsoever.
Mastiff grunted; it was time to quit firing. Rottie nodded and the gang released their trigger fingers.
Abe turned furious! The very fabric of the air surrounding his form rippled. Gravity suddenly twisted, an anomaly was produced, and immediately tugged at most of both gangs. They were caught in the enhanced gravitational pull of the earth, unable to do much more than squirm.
Torch collapsed with a winded sigh. As he fell, his wall of fire immediately blinked out and died, mere tendrils of grey smoke left in its place. Martial Blade hit the road beside him, as did four other East Enders. Coydog, Butch, and Funboy stepped back, agape disbelief wrought on their faces. The rest of the Dog Pack dropped to the ground, their weapons clanking as their bodies slammed down.
Even Mastiff's knees buckled, then he sank onto the graveled alleyway as if a bus fell on him. The muscles of his jaw knotted with the efforts of trying to growl. His body struggled, fingers twitched. The large man was pinned down too.
"Holy Christ!" Coydog cried. "What did that thing do? They're fuckin' anchored, man!"
Mastiff squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment. He flexed his massive limbs, the powerful sinews in his back, shoulders, and chest stretching like cables. Clawed hands pressed the ground as he fought the ghostly mass about his body. He felt his neck straining, felt as if blood vessels were about to burst through his skin. Nostrils flaring, he finally muscled out of the gravitational harness.
The large man looked up and gave the shadowy figure a mirthless grin. He made his hands tight fists, rolled his shoulders to loosen them, and took a step forward.
"Heh, anchorman, that's kinda funny," jeered Funboy.
But then Mastiff's face flared with rage. "You're so dead, Anchorman," he growled, pouncing twenty feet into the air. He continued to yell as he hit the hovering Abe, flying into him, both hands viciously raking the anomalous, quasi-human form with all the strength he could muster. But as soon as his hands touched Abe's personal force field, the very air surrounding him lapped outwards like a shimmering pond. There was no tremor or recoil as Mastiff's clawed hands struck, just instant the nullification of momentum. The stasis field absorbed the immense kinetic energy generated by his fatal attack.
Mastiff landed in a crouch and gave Abe a bemused grin. "What the fuck are ya?" And why the Hell ain't ya dead?
His hands have demolished steel girders in the past while his razor-sharp fingernails have ripped apart cinder blocks, surely he should have killed Abe. But his attack apparently did nothing at all. The opaque void that defined his opponent showed no signs of injury or assault. It's chest merely beat like a gentle strobe.
Immediately after the attack Abe began to elevate, lifting himself higher out of Mastiff's reach.
"NO!" Martial Blade cried, still overwhelmed by the gravity field. Finally he pushed his strength enough to reach his flight controls. As Johnny tapped the rapier insignia on his chest, the mesh integrated in his bodysuit galvanized to life, generating a powerful energy field around him. The field expanded, at which point Johnny rose into the air. He figured his promise to not use his powers would be moot if his dad was killed.
Even behind the boy's mask, Mastiff could see the sheer concern on his face.
Martial Blade sailed towards the Dog Pack's boss, a loose wire snaking from the glove of his right hand. The wire shot out like a whip and the force-field extended around it, ionizing it into a stiff, fine line. It resembled an energy sabre of sorts. The youth slashed at Mastiff with the instant weapon, the thin edge slicing through a chain-link fence as the large man lunged out of its path.
The psychotic returned the attack with a jab the would have shattered bone and crippled Martial Blade for life. Fortunately for the youngster, he sidestepped the punch, and Mastiff's fist tore through a warehouse wall. Chunks of brick and cement exploded as his arm passed through with ease.
"You're quick, kid," Mastiff nodded. "C'mon, give me your best shot."
"Will do," Torch interjected. The leader of the East Enders pointed his hands at the muscular villain, the air in front of him combusted into a billowing jet of flames that tagged Mastiff.
Mastiff tried to retort, but the only sound that emerged from his mouth was a low growl. He smelled burning flesh, and realized it was his own. He fell to his knees as the fire continued to spew forth. His skin was already charring from the burning heat; his mouth locked in a silent scream as smoke escaped from his throat.
Lee rushed to help his boss, delivering a jumping sidekick into Torch's ribs, stopping the fiery attack.
Mastiff rose to his feet, coils of smoke playing off his body. His leather outfit was in burnt tatters, his skin fuming and covered slightly in blisters. "Kill that little shit!" he ordered.
Flea and Jackie began shooting at Torch, bullets sparked off the ground as the leader of the East Enders fled for cover. The two gangs engaged one another and seemed evenly matched -- the Dog Pack were more vicious, but the East Enders were better trained. The Dog Pack tried to use their guns but their opponents shortened the distance between them. They were far more skilled in close quarters than Mastiff's toughs, and they used this to their advantage.
Mastiff tensed and sprang into the fray, sending East Enders off balance with gentle shoves. He noticed that Flea shot one of the East Enders in the shoulder while T-Bone managed to wrestle another down to the ground. Mastiff jumped again, easily pushing his way through the violent mass, hit the ground, sprang, and this time hammered his elbow into Martial Blade's back.
"Uh!" Johnny winced, flipping over and sprawling out in the dirt. He rolled over to see Mastiff looming over him, a sharp pain surging through his body.
"I ain't finished with ya, kid."
Suddenly a huge mass hit down hard on the roof of Mastiff's skull. The force of the blow was surprisingly great enough to make him stumble and blink his eyes in a futile attempt to banish the black spots that swam before him.
As the slightly dazed Mastiff staggered, the sound of a loudspeaker crackled nearby. Mastiff looked up to see the pulsing shape of Abe hovering a few feet away. His radio erupted with the voice of John Wayne, and it said, "Now, hold on there, pilgrim. No reason you an' me can't duke this out between ourselves. That's unless you don't think ya can take me. Whadya say, pilgrim? I'll even offer to trade blows at ground level!"
Mastiff hissed, feeling his chest rise and fall as his heart beat madly, blood filling his eyes. He then wrinkled his nose and inhaled. Through the morass aromas of the abandoned alley the wind picked up a faint, but familial scent. He originally smelled it coming off of Martial Blade, which was why he didn't make anything of it. But now the scent was coming off of the wraithlike being. Even though it was ever so slight, his keen sense of smell never lied to him.
"What do we have here...? Bedroom buddies, eh?" Mastiff smiled.
Like a rabid hound, he attacked the grounded Martial Blade. His burly arms grappled the lad with such strength and speed the boy had no chance of escape at all. Mastiff scowled at the floating figure with bloodshot eyes while his hands locked around Johnny with unyielding power.
"No, I'm callin' the shots here!" His cacophonous voice boomed off the surrounding walls of the condemned buildings, its echoes jangling shadows in Martial Blade's head. The costumed teenager struggled weakly within Mastiff's hairy grasp.
"Just you an' me, fly-boy." Mastiff quickly shifted his stance, seeing as Torch's hands glowed in awash fire. "Ah, ah, ah. Back off, flamer, or I break your friend's neck like the twig it is."
All the East Enders halted, including Torch. In fact, some of the members sat against peppered walls, their bloodied hands covering serious wounds. Even members of the Dog Pack were injured. There was pause over the alley and Mastiff grinned at the brutal tableau about him.
Suddenly the psychotic slammed his forehead into the back of Martial Blade's. The teenager's force-field reeled slightly as it went down under the blindside attack, knocking him out.
Abe's chest flickered furiously as the two personalities warred inside his cybernetic mind. The callous, psychotic mentality "borrowed" from Mastiff fought with the gentle, loving, father whose son was downed by the savage below. But the psychotic half really had no chance. The software in KAGED had interrupts all over to prevent any kind of misconception from causing the loss of a human life.
Gravitons cascaded off Martial Blade's limp form as the shadowy, pulsating man-shape lifted him out of danger. The speaker crackled again, this time in the Beaver's voice. "Gee Blade, ya think you oughta of done that?"
Johnny floated down by the rest of the East Enders. Torch rushed over to his unconscious friend and immediately looked over him. Everyone watched Mastiff and Abe.
The rigid form of Abe descended towards Mastiff, his radio shifting into the voice of Clint Eastwood's. "So, punk, ya feel lucky, do ya?"
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're a friggin' loon!"
Mastiff sized the frozen black figure up. His keen eyes couldn't penetrate the mysterious darkness that defined him. Whatever he is, he's built like an old man. But why can't I phase this clown? He saw a challenge in Abe who hovered so boldly above him. Mastiff leapt skyward, cocking back an arm and delivering a massive blow to the rigid silhouette.
Abe did not budge, his stasis field cushioning the impact totally. And what was more queer was the radio -- it now blared an action theme from Star Trek.
Mastiff looked frustrated. "You're fuckin' annoying!"
Transparent energy billowed off of Abe as Mastiff got struck in the midsection. Caught off guard by the invisible strike, the muscular madman bent over as he flew backward through one wall of a tenement and out its adjacent wall. Half the building sagged to one side as he crashed into a nearby telephone post. Mastiff sprawled back across the toppled caber, stars swimming before his eyes.
Given his dense bones and musculature, coupled by his accelerated healing factor, all the attack really served to do was make Mastiff even more mad.
"Nice hit. My turn."
Mastiff launched himself at the statuesque wraith and lashed out with a punishing combination of blows and slashes. His muscles swelled from the strain of his fury. His hard eyes were focused and set with determination, spittle trickling onto his curled lips.
Maniacal laughter echoed across the alley as Mastiff's feet padded down on the graveled road. Abe's body still didn't flinch, however, as it slowly floated down to ground level.
Crouching low, Mastiff looked at Abe. his brow all the while furrowed in contempt. Just as he was about to pounce on him wildly, he heard police sirens in the distance, getting louder. The police cars couldn't have been less than a block or two away, the volume of their screaming blanketing the moonshadow around him.
"Shit, that's our cue, boys," Mastiff told the Dog Pack. "Now beat it." The gang of toughs scrambled, thronging out of the alley in every direction. Mastiff gave his quasi-human opponent one last stare then bounded to a nearby rooftop. His hulking frame melded into the night and eventually disappeared.
The East Enders let them go as they were too concerned with their wounded members. Abe on the other hand, just hovered inches above the stone-strewn roadway. He was speechless and unmoving.
The leader of the East Enders continued to watch Martial Blade who was still unconscious.
"My God, Torch, is he breathing?" a member asked.
Torch felt Johnny's neck for a pulse, but couldn't locate the exact spot to press. Delicately, he lifted his left wrist, and released a breath he had no idea he was holding as he found a beat. He was no doctor, but it seemed strong.
"Yeah, he is. But he's so still..."
"What about him."
Torch turned to see the shadowy shape that was actually Johnny's father. It remained as stiff as a board, its feet nearly touching the ground. No signs of ascension, no insane comments spewing out of its loudspeaker. Torch's eyes went wide with uncertainty. "I don't know what to say. But he just doesn't seem right..."